Of Padded Feet and a Full Moon
by MyPhoenixLament
Summary: 15 Remus x Sirius ficlets. Mostly humor or angst, with a bit of fluff interspersed.
1. Glove

**Author's Notes:** This is another birthday story, though it's written for CaptainPookey, who requested Remus/Sirius. What I did for this is I took fifteen prompts, then wrote a ficlet around each one's antonym.

* * *

**Black and White**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 001 – Glove  
**Antonym:** Sock  
**Word Count:** 550

-oOo-

Sirius decides, after brooding in the boys' dormitory, that Remus owns far too many black and white socks. He supposes that Moony finds them practical, because they are; black and white and the occasional grey match almost anything, if not everything, that one could ever desire to wear. This reasoning is acceptable in part, as Moony is the most reasonable person that he has ever met.

But Sirius also knows that there exists a state of being overly reasonable, and that there are times and places to which reason should not be applied.

Coincidentally, one of them is the footwear of a Hogwarts student. It doesn't matter what socks one wears here, because the robes which are worn as school uniforms are long enough to cover the tops of one's trainers. Trainers which are flush and almost connected with the cuffs of one's trousers. Thus it remains comfortably safe to don whatever socks one pleases, no matter the color or style, because no one will ever see them.

Almost no one, rather. Sirius is certain that Lily desires no one to know she wears mismatched socks on Thursdays, and that one is usually embroidered with flowers and the other with Quaffles. But she doesn't know that _he_ knows this, of course.

Sirius wonders why then, when Lily is so disgustingly prim, Remus refuses to purchase anything more or less than monochromatic. Remus is certainly reasonable—_Reasonable Remus_, Sirius chuckles—but he is not, in any way, monochromatic. And even when it's a full moon and Sirius is aprowl as a great black dog, there isn't anything about Moony that's black and white.

And so the next evening, (because Saturday is just too far away), Sirius borrows James's cloak and the map that they made so diligently together, and he steals into Hogsmeade, courtesy of the one-eyed witch. It doesn't take him long to decide where he's going; when he reaches this place, he scurries inside, snatches the first trace of bright red that he sees, and leaves a galleon on the countertop. The little silver bell that dangles above the door doesn't even have time to ring.

When he returns, everyone is dining in the Great Hall, which is just as he has predicted—he's come back in time for dessert, as he's too excited to eat much else.

The common room is empty, as is, most especially, the boys' dormitory. (It's always a ghost town during mealtimes.) Sirius carefully folds the cloak (he'll tell James about his excursion later) and stuffs it delicately beneath the bed where he discovered it. Then he pulls a small brown parcel out from inside of his pocket. He tosses it into the air thrice, catching it each time in his palm, and places it onto the pillows of the only bed that's been made.

The next night, Sirius watches carefully as Remus removes his shoes. He goes about the task as if he's exhausted, or otherwise is enjoying the fact that Sirius is hanging in suspense.

Now there's a laugh as James points at Remus's feet. "A bit off-season, Moony, don't you think? Christmas was rather a while ago."

Remus looks at Sirius and rolls his eyes, fighting back a sheepish grin.

When he climbs into bed, he's still wearing candy cane-embroidered socks.


	2. Ignite

**In This Moment**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 002 – Ignite  
**Antonym:** Extinguish  
**Word Count:** 616

-oOo-

In the dim candlelight, Remus feels Sirius's lips fumble upon his cheek before he finds his mouth and he kisses him. It's soft at first, this kiss, because for once, Sirius is just as nervous as he is. Neither of them has ever done this sort of thing with _anyone_ before, no matter what the seventh-year girls claim. Sirius is quick to adapt, though, and so soon his kisses are rough and more feverish, more hungering, wanting, and_ needing_. For Remus, it's frightening and exciting all at once, especially since he doesn't know if he can keep up.

Sirius's hands are roaming, his palms and fingers warm. One moment, he's cupping Remus's chin, the next, he's holding the sides of his face, and after that, he finds that Remus's hair is surprisingly soft.

Remus squirms, trying to find a place that's comfortable, and when he does he sighs against Sirius because it feels so _good_. It doesn't matter if it's right or wrong in anyone else's eyes; in that moment, Sirius doesn't give a damn if anyone sees them and he doesn't give a damn about what anyone thinks. What matters is what he thinks and what Remus thinks, because what they're thinking right now doesn't concern anyone else but them.

Sirius pulls at a shirt—he doesn't know to whom it belongs—and Remus freezes. It's Remus's shirt, he realizes, but he doesn't know why suddenly something's wrong with that.

Sirius slides his hands onto Remus's stomach, reaching until he can feel Remus's chest, and suddenly, the skin there isn't so smooth. There are scars beneath his fingertips, scars that Fate herself has left behind. He wants to kiss them and make them better even though he doesn't want them to disappear. He lifts the shirt higher, struggling to remove it.

Remus's hand—so cold—suddenly grasps his wrist; Sirius knows that he shouldn't be so startled that Remus is so much stronger than he looks. There isn't much light, but he can see that there's no more fire in his eyes. Instead, it's been replaced by the melancholic mask that Sirius had thought he wouldn't have to see until morning.

"Don't," Remus murmurs.

Sirius wants to tell him that he likes the scars, because he likes anything and everything that belongs to Remus and is a part of Remus. But he can't find words that sound right, even in his head, so all he can do is ask, "Why?"

"I just… I just don't want you to see them, alright?"

He does, though. The mask is slipping, and it doesn't matter, what he's trying to hide. Because Remus can't fully escape from the heat of the moment. His hands are cold but his feet certainly aren't.

Yet even though they both know that it's true, Sirius won't press this fact upon him. He can't risk driving him away, in spite of the fact that, his whole life, he's always been so reckless. Then again, that's why he knows now that there are some risks that you shouldn't take; there are some leaps of faith that shouldn't be leapt. Not right away. Not right now.

Remus asks him if he could please blow out the candle. As if nothing has just happened.

Sirius complies reluctantly.

He feels the mattress sink and then rise again as Remus leaves the bed. He goes to the side that's the closest to the wall, though it would be easier to simply crawl over Sirius's legs—but that would mean they'd have to touch again and let themselves go unrestrained.

The heavy four-poster hangings sway and then go still.

Sirius shuts his eyes and thinks of embers that never die.


	3. Synonym

**Antonyms**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 003 – Synonym  
**Antonym:** Antonym  
**Word Count:** 280

-oOo-

Remus and Sirius are each other's antonyms. It's almost like, if there was a magical thesa-what's-it—whatever that thing is that Lily talks about—that listed names instead of words, you'd find that _Remus_ means the exact opposite of _Sirius_, and vice-versa.

You see, Remus is quiet where Sirius is loud; and while Remus would much rather be curled up by the fire with a particularly engrossing book, Sirius would prefer to toss a book into said fire as a prank. (Not that Sirius would ever prank Remus in that manner. He saves that sort of thing for Snivellus.)

Remus thinks before he speaks, and so when he finally pipes up and says something, even the teachers listen to him. Sirius, conversely, blurts out whatever's on his mind, so after a while, you just learn to ignore him.

Sirius also likes to play Quidditch, which is a pastime of which Remus is not particularly fond. Sure, it's an excellent, exciting game, but it's too scary or something for him to play it himself, even if Sirius is hovering beside him to make sure he doesn't topple off his broom.

That's another thing: Remus prefers to be on the ground.

With all of these factors working against them, you'd never have expected them to become friends or anything more than that. They have, though, and that's what's so brilliant. It makes them unique, you know? You should see them when they're together; you'd never know that their personalities clash more terribly than Weasley hair clashes with bright pink dress robes.

_Antonym_'s antonym is _synonym_, though. So Peter and I expect they've got more going for them than what meets the eye.


	4. Muffin

**The Fourteenth at Number Twelve**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 004 – Muffin  
**Antonym:** Cupcake  
**Word Count: **954

-oOo-

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was a gloomy location indeed, especially when holidays were in the process of approaching or taking their leave. Christmas the year before had already proved to be an especially difficult time, as, even when the original occupants of the house were occupying it, naught more than a sprig of holly or two had been scattered about the various stairwells of the foreboding edifice. It had not helped matters in the least bit that it had been abandoned for so many years after Walburga Black had died, and that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had grown several shades blacker with so many layers of dust covering its every surface.

The Order of the Phoenix, however, had still managed to bring with them at least a minute amount of festive cheer—though this was due primarily to the presence of the younger Weasleys, Hermione Granger, and, most especially, Harry Potter.

Unfortunately, when the month of February stumbled upon Britain, the aforementioned children were exceptionally far away from Grimmauld Place, and had not been given leave to return there at any time until Easter. Thus it was only to be expected that, on Valentine's Day, Sirius could be found moping about the large but dingy kitchen, wishing that his godson were there so that they could at least laugh together about the ridiculous nature of the holiday.

But, precisely as his mother had always intended, the house was just as grim, if not even more so, than it had been two months prior. February was an obscure time of year, after all, and as such, the majority of the Order was away upon some sort of business or another; the remainder of those to whom this did not apply were snuggled comfortably in their homes. These homes, he expected, were much lighter and less depressing than Grimmauld Place, and therefore were more preferable abodes in which to dwell. So much more preferable, in fact, that since Christmas, the temporary residents had slowly trickled out until Sirius was left alone.

He slumped over upon the table and sighed loudly—louder than was customary because there was no one there to hear him. Tonks was supposed to drop by later in the afternoon, but that was hours upon hours away. Especially since it was currently four o'clock in the morning.

Sirius picked absently at a knot in the table. Four o'clock in the morning on the fourteenth of February was a lonely time indeed. He pressed his cheek against the wood, not caring to ponder what had been consumed upon its surface without being cleaned off some time ago. His shaggy hair fell over his eyes in a scruffy black curtain. Perhaps he would doze off for a while, and perhaps, after doing so, he would wake to find it already round midday.

Deciding that this plan was a desirable one, he closed his eyes and kept them as such until a combination of boredom and grogginess sent him off to sleep.

-

It was still dark when Sirius blinked his eyes and roused himself, although there were no windows in the kitchen, so it was difficult to distinguish what time of day it was. He yawned widely and brought his hand up to scratch his chin—no doubt a layer of stubble had grown there, no matter how long he had been asleep.

What he found, however, was not stubble of any sort; for, when he abruptly pulled his hand away, it was covered in something pink.

Sirius raised his eyebrows and sniffed the substance gingerly. It smelled of sugary strawberries: frosting.

His eyes traveled toward the table. There, upon a plate, were one dozen pink-frosted cupcakes, which he supposed had once spelt out 'Happy Valentine's Day'. However, half had been hopelessly squashed; this was obviously why there was frosting mashed upon his face.

"Afternoon, Padfoot," a pleasant voice greeted. Sirius would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Moony!" he exclaimed, brightening considerably. For indeed, directly across from him, Remus had seated himself and was watching Sirius with amusement. "Didn't know you were coming! Has Tonks been here already?"

Remus shook his head. "Something came up and she wasn't able to make it. She sent me in her place."

"And bearing gifts, I see," Sirius commented. "She didn't make them herself, did she?"

"Merlin, no," Remus chuckled. "I doubt her flat even has an oven in it."

Sirius nodded. "A wise choice by whoever made that decision."

"It certainly was. So don't fret; the cupcakes have been made by me."

"And that's reassuring, is it?" Sirius teased.

"I do try," Remus replied, his cheeks slightly red.

Whilst Sirius imagined to himself what consequences would arise if his cousin came within a meter of an oven, Remus conjured a damp cloth with his wand and handed it to Sirius.

"You might want to use this," Remus suggested as Sirius stared at it blankly for a moment.

Realization dawned upon the latter, and he reached out to take the cloth. Briefly, their fingers touched as the object changed hands. Sirius seemed not to notice this, but Remus was careful to briefly regard his fingers before he rested his arm upon the table.

"Well, happy Valentine's Day, I suppose," Remus said at length. He glanced at the plate containing the pink pastries, then returned his eyes to Sirius. "Would you like one?"

Sirius grinned a wolfish grin. "'Course I would."

He was promptly handed a cupcake—the one which had managed to collect the greatest amount of red and white sprinkles.

"Thanks, Moony. Don't know what I'd do without you and your astonishingly decent cooking."

Remus laughed and took a cupcake, wondering just how decent his cooking really was.


	5. Traveling

**Befriending Sirius Black**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 005 – Traveling  
**Antonym:** Standing  
**Word Count: **446

-oOo-

Remus Lupin was terrified. The Hogwarts Express was already so much larger than he had thought it would be, and he hadn't even taken his first step inside of it yet. Fidgeting with the frayed cuffs of his sweater sleeves, he lingered anxiously by his mother's side, regarding the scarlet steam engine as if it were of a breed that he had never before seen. (And it was, technically, though it resembled every other steam engine in Britain. This hardly mattered, however, as Remus lived rather far away from most trains.)

Mrs. Lupin glanced at her watch, and then at the clock which stood behind them. She gently tried to nudge Remus forward toward the Hogwarts Express, but he clung to her arm tightly.

"You must get on the train, Remmie. It's going to leave soon," she told him.

"Can't you…?" His voice trailed off helplessly.

"I can't come onto the train with you, Remmie." Carefully, she bent and placed her hand upon his shoulders. "But you'll find some nice boys to sit with, I'm certain. Don't worry."

Remus's eyes darted toward the train and back again. When Mrs. Lupin saw that he was not about to budge, and would continue to stand there until the train left without him, she looked about the platform exasperatedly. At once, her eyes alighted upon a boy who looked to be about the same age as her son. He had dark hair and seemed to be a pleasant child, as he was grinning broadly. His parents, whoever they were, were nowhere to be seen.

"Excuse me," Mrs. Lupin called out to the boy. Remus's eyes widened in horror, but she paid him no mind.

The boy turned around, and both mother and son were struck by how perfectly sculpted his features seemed to be.

Mrs. Lupin recovered more quickly than Remus.

"Would you mind helping my son Remus find a place to sit on the train? He's not quite certain where to go."

The boy's smile didn't falter. "Sure! I've just ditched the friends my mum wants me to sit with. Stuffy lot, that is."

Remus bit his lip and smiled.

"What did you say your name was, dear?" Mrs. Lupin asked.

"Sirius Black, ma'am," said the boy.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Sirius Bl—Remmie, perhaps you'd better—"

But Remus, oddly, had already started to walk toward the Hogwarts Express, following Sirius closely. Mrs. Lupin pursed her lips and placed her hands upon her hips, watching the pair as they disappeared onto the train.

"Be careful, Remmie," she whispered beneath her breath. Remus would need to heed this warning if he was going to befriend a Black.


	6. Naked

**Hot Day**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 006 – Naked  
**Antonym: **Clothed  
**Word Count: **380

-oOo-

They're sitting on the edge of the lake with their fingers woven languidly through the tufts of grass that have grown too long over the past few months. Their hands are near to each other's, but far enough away so that it doesn't look like anything special (even if it is).

It's a hot day, (because it's almost summer but not quite), and so Sirius has removed his shirt and his shoes so that his chest and feet are bare. He flexes his toes every so often, grinding his heel into the mud near the water's edge. Sometimes, he reaches up to ruffle his own hair, thus spreading flecks of green throughout his already-mussed mop of black.

It's a hot day, (because it's that time of the afternoon when the sun is at its peak), but Remus has kept his shirt buttoned up to the very last button beneath his collar, even though the fabric is beginning to stick to his back. He's taken off his shoes and socks and placed them in line with Sirius's—though Sirius, for some reason, wasn't wearing any socks to begin with. Today, he feels pensive but not idle, and he's had no difficulty with simply sitting there and watching the lake water ripple.

Sirius, though, is bored, and while he doesn't mind sitting with Remus, (after all, at first he was content to sit still), his legs are tingling and restless because he wants to move about.

He sighs.

"You know, this is the third time in the last minute you've done that," Remus tells him. He looks at Sirius; the sun reflecting upon the lake's surface is hurting his eyes.

"Done what?" Sirius asks.

"Sighed."

Sirius shrugs. "I hadn't noticed."

But Remus has noticed and it makes him worry that Sirius only wants to get away. (Remus can't read people as well as others think, because people aren't books and their hearts aren't spelled out on paper.)

The silence is uncomfortable for both of them.

"Hey. Fancy a swim?" Sirius suddenly murmurs. Remus looks at him again, and then at the water. It's a hot day, but maybe not that hot. However, Remus knows that if Sirius wants him to swim, he'll pull Remus into the lake himself, collared shirt and all.


	7. Hell

**Finding a Heaven**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 007 – Hell  
**Antonym: **Heaven  
**Word Count: **184

-oOo-

When Sirius was young and lived at home, he was indifferent toward any sort of heavenly place. Grimmauld Place was nice, he thought, even though his family was strict. But it was fun playing with Regulus and even Narcissa, sometimes. Bella never wanted to play; then again, he never really wanted to play with her, either.

When Sirius was older and he was Sorted into Gryffindor, suddenly he began to wonder what a heavenly place was like, because Grimmauld Place was no longer as nice as he remembered it being. And his family was more than hellish. Oh, they tolerated him, but only to the skeletal meaning of the word. That was why he ran away.

When Sirius was even older and almost grown and surrounded by his best mates of seven years, he didn't need to worry about his old family any longer. He had James as a brother, and Peter was there to fill in the gap that Regulus seemed to have left. And then there was Remus.

When Sirius was with Remus, he knew that he had found heaven at last.


	8. Infinity

**One Day**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 008 – Infinity  
**Antonym: **One  
**Word Count: **390

-oOo-

Remus wondered if they were ever going to tell anyone. It wasn't as if someone wouldn't discover them eventually, because they had started disappearing every few hours now, and they were quickly running out of excuses. Remus could always say that he needed to study in the library; that sort of thing was expected from him. But Sirius, who was always at James's side, couldn't suddenly decide that he was going to study, too. He couldn't say that Remus was going to tutor him, either, because tutoring and studying both went against Sirius's nature, and James would suspect something.

Their disappearances were even more suspicious, however, as they always occurred at the same time.

At the moment, Remus was "finishing an essay for Transfiguration." He had excused himself from the common room quietly, telling no one, not even Sirius, that he was instead going to be outside. Waiting. Sirius truly was in detention, but left five minutes early, claiming to Slughorn that he had "Quidditch practice." This happened to be at the same moment Remus was leaving Gryffindor Tower.

They met on the grounds beneath a tree that was near the gamekeeper's hut. They didn't have to coordinate with each other anymore. They just sensed when it was time to leave, and where they had to go.

Remus was leaning against the tree when Sirius found him. Sirius greeted him in the way that had become customary; his stride lengthened, he glanced over his shoulder to be sure that no one was watching, and he kissed Remus, holding his shoulders so that he was pinned against the trunk.

Today, though, Remus broke the tradition slightly. He broke away from the kiss first.

"We need to tell someone," he explained when Sirius furrowed his brow in confusion. "At least James. I know he suspects something; he looked at me rather oddly when I left. Sirius, _he_ at least deserves to know. We're his best friends."

Sirius appeared almost crestfallen. "One day we will, Moony, I swear." Then he grinned. "Isn't it exciting, though? Sneaking off and meeting in secret?"

Remus shook his head. "Not anymore, Sirius. We need to come out about this. We don't need to hide it from everyone."

Sirius shook his head. "We don't today. One day we'll tell James, and maybe someone else, too. Just… not today."


	9. Colorful

**Author's Notes: **This one is slightly AU, as Sirius is still alive in present day. This also happens to be Paula's favorite. :)

**

* * *

**

**Charades**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 009 – Colorful  
**Antonym: **Grey  
**Word Count: **805

-oOo-

Sirius held up two fingers; otherwise, he was completely unmoving and his expression was one of formidable graveness.

Remus, from his place upon the weather-beaten sofa in the living room of their flat, sighed. "Really, Padfoot, we're much too old for charades." His voice was tired and strained. He was always tired as of late.

Sirius vigorously shook his head and pointed violently to his already-raised pair of fingers, looking at Remus sternly. The latter relinquished another heavy breath of air; there would be no end to it, he knew, unless he caved into Sirius's demands.

"Alright, then. Two words."

Sirius beamed and put down one of his fingers.

"First word," said Remus, feeling very much like a redundant narrator.

From out of nowhere, Sirius produced a grey marker and uncapped it with such a dramatic flair that Remus covered a smile with his hand—after all, he was supposed to disapprove of this nonsense.

This expression, however weary it was, abruptly faded the moment that Sirius brought the felt tip to his face and began to madly scribble upon his own skin.

Aghast, Remus gaped at him.

"That had better come off," he managed to say after the initial shock had worn off slightly. "I don't want this to be the first thing I see when I wake up tomorrow morning."

The dark-haired man set his lip into a protruding pout, though continued to draw upon himself until the entirety of his complexion was of a sickly grey. Once satisfied, he replaced the marker's cap and held up a second finger.

"Second word," Remus muttered automatically.

Upon hearing this, Sirius's grin widened, and, with such a lack of shame that Remus nearly cringed, he dropped his trousers. If the marker had been surprising, the unexpectedness of this made it pale greatly in comparison. A flush crept up to Remus's neck. He could feel it rushing to the very tips of his ears—which felt nearly as if they had been caught in an oven. He averted his eyes after a moment's pause—during which Sirius made no move to clothe himself.

"I don't believe I can fathom this one," the werewolf muttered faintly.

Just then, the Weasley twins, who happened to be staying in the spare bedroom whilst their joke shop was being remodeled, poked their heads through the doorway. In perfect synchronization, they looked from Remus to Sirius and then back again.

Fred was the first to raise a questioning eyebrow. "Not interrupting, are we?"

"Charades," Remus mumbled. He wondered if his skin was burning the sofa cushions…

"'Course," George nodded, and clapped his hands together. "What have we got?"

"Two words, the clue for the first of which being _grey scribbles_. The second is, ah…" He motioned blindly toward Sirius.

"Naughty bits?" Fred chimed in helpfully.

"Yes…"

"Grey-faced naughty bits…"

"Might just be _grey naughty bits_."

The twin who had not been the last to speak turned to Sirius, determinedly holding his gaze upon Sirius's face. "Is that it? _Grey naughty bits_?"

Sirius shook his head at the same time Remus said, "That's one word too many."

"What if you hyphenated it?"

"Could just be _grey p_—"

Remus winced.

"No, no, that's not it!"

"Then how about that one disease—what's it called?"

But that was not the answer either, for Sirius continued to shake his head.

"And for Merlin's sake, pull up your trousers. You're distracting Remus."

As the aforementioned man's head was still turned pointedly away, he did not see the smirk that was flashed at him by Sirius—who acquiesced with the twins' request reluctantly.

As the zipping of a zipper resounded throughout the now-silent room, Remus was struck by a thought. Sirius had lately taken to watching television, in part because the Muggle contraption very much infuriated his mother when they were visiting 12 Grimmauld Place on Order business, and in part because frankly, the concept of the thing fascinated him to no end.

"I think I've got it!" Remus finally exclaimed. Three pairs of eyes were suddenly attuned to him. "It's _Grey's Anatomy_, isn't it?"

"Excellent!" Sirius cried delightedly as he let forth a whoop.

Fred, though he joined in the celebration, looked befuddled. "What's _Grey's Anatomy_?" he whispered to his twin.

"Only the best Muggle fellyvision program ever made!" declared George. "I even found myself blubbering when Denny died."

"Who's Denny?" Fred mouthed, but George ignored him.

"Alright, Moony!" Sirius said jovially as he slung an arm around Remus's shoulders. "It's your turn!"

"First, then, let it be known that I'm not removing any articles of clothing from my person," he stated clearly and carefully. _He_, at least, could confess to possessing an ounce of pride.

Later, long after the game had come to an end, the twins would swear that Sirius had looked disappointed.


	10. Dance

**Remus is Not Amused**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 010 – Dance  
**Antonym: **Flail  
**Word Count: **174

-oOo-

Remus is flailing his arms. Not on his own accord, of course, because Remus isn't fond of quick and bothersome movements. No, he's flailing his arms because someone has pranked him, and he has a fair idea of whom.

He manages to control his movements, reducing his flailing to a rather violent flap, like some sort of seagull that's determined to match a hummingbird in speed. But of course, seagulls aren't built to properly beat their wings as fast as a hummingbird can, and neither, it seems, is Remus. He is able to flap them only twice more before he loses control and his arms begin to flail about again.

At last, though, someone casts a freezing charm onto him. He can't see much from then on, as his eyes can't move, but he _can_ see Sirius's horror-stricken face. For a moment, it's like they're both frozen, and then Sirius throws back his head and laughs.

"Was… supposed… to be… for Peter!" he wheezes, and then collapses upon the floor.

Remus is not amused.


	11. Glue

**The Leak**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 011 – Glue  
**Antonym:** Water  
**Word Count:** 206

-oOo-

_Drip… _

_Drip… _

_Drip… _

Sirius opened one bleary eye and then the other.

_Drip… _

_Drip… _

He ran a weary hand through his hair, which had flopped over his eyes during the hours before whilst he had tossed and turned in his sleep.

_Drip… _

He groaned. Something was dripping in his flat.

_Drip… _

He pulled himself from his bed, wincing as the cool air stung his skin. Outside, he could hear rain pattering upon the windowpanes, but it was too dark to see how hard it fell.

_Drip… _

_Drip… _

The bathroom faucet was fine.

_Drip… _

_Drip… _

_Drip… _

The shower was not the source, either.

_Dripdrip…_

As Sirius made his way into the kitchen to test the faucet there, he…

_Drip_.

He stopped and glanced upward.

_Drip_.

A droplet of water landed upon his face. Frowning, he shuffled about for his wand to repair the hole in the ceiling. Then he waited.

_Silence…_

Satisfied, he slid back into his bed, its warmth welcoming him back.

"What was it?" Remus asked groggily, rolling over to face him.

"Just a leak in the roof."

"Probably from all those times you've sat up there," Remus nodded to himself.

"Yeah," Sirius adds, "and all of those times you sat up there with me."


	12. Duck

**Flat Feet Flapping**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 012 – Duck  
**Antonym:** Goose  
**Word Count:** 413

-oOo-

The moon shone high and full overhead, bathing the castle grounds in a light that was unique to a single night each month. Four animals, their paces almost equal in spite of the differences in their sizes, darted in and out of the shadows and through the grass. On occasion, one of them, the werewolf, would pause to tilt his head upward and release a great howl into the sky, and on these occasions, another, the large black dog, would bound to the former's side and join him joyously in a chorus of haunting cries.

It was upon one of such occasions that the werewolf suddenly choked upon his own howl and darted backward, his coarse tail tucked between his hind legs. In alarm, the black dog surged forward and put himself before the werewolf. His fur bristled and his ears went back; he crouched, his eyes yellow and menacing as he growled. Contrary to the reason of nature, the dog would protect the wolf, no matter what occurred.

Yet after several tensed minutes had passed and nothing had occurred, the black dog relaxed his body and glanced questioningly behind him. To his surprise, the werewolf had curled himself into a tight ball like a frightened pup and was positively quivering from hairy snout to tail.

Cautiously, the black dog approached the werewolf and nuzzled him in what was meant to be a reassuring manner. The latter whimpered, though he calmed slightly at the touch of his companion.

The black dog cast a quizzical look at the remaining two animals. The stag tossed his head, just as bemused as the dog, and the rat twitched his whiskers as if he could smell whatever was amiss.

Then, unexpectedly, there was movement in a nearby bush. Four pairs of eyes instantly snapped to its base, fixing upon a flash of off-colored brown…

Oblivious to the tension it was inspiring, a fat goose extricated itself from a tangle of branches and waddled past the quartet, its flat feet flapping loudly. It paused for a moment to snap at something lodged amongst its feathers, and then it continued on with its awkward gait until four keen pairs of ears could hear a splash as it happened upon the lake.

Dumbfounded, the rat, the dog, and the stag looked at the werewolf for several contemplative minutes. The dog in particular made a note to ask the werewolf to which parks his mother had taken him as a child.


	13. Thumbtack

**Rummaging**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 013 – Thumbtack  
**Antonym:** Tape  
**Word Count:** 257

-oOo-

"I've found the most amazing stuff!" Sirius exclaimed triumphantly whilst rummaging through James's closet. Remus might have shared in his enthusiasm if Sirius had not been making such ecstatic claims for the past two hours.

"What is it _this_ time, Padfoot?" Remus sighed wearily. "Have you found another thumbtack?"

Sirius, who had been sitting inside of the closet, poked his head outside of its sliding doors. His face was flushed. "No! Even better!"

Remus arched an eyebrow. He could not imagine what could be more thrilling to Sirius than the thumbtack he had pricked his finger with fifteen minutes prior. Although, neither could he imagine why such an object was in James's room in the first place.

"Come out of the closet, then, and show me what this marvelous stuff is."

Sirius's head disappeared for a moment, and then he backed out of the closet, clutching something in his hands.

Grinning, he turned to Remus. He was holding duct tape.

"Look how well it sticks!" Sirius cried, pulling at the roll. To demonstrate what he had said, he stuck one end to his finger and then let the roll dangle from it. "I reckon it'll stick to anything!"

"Anything?" Remus echoed. He paused, then held out his hands. "May I?"

Still beaming, Sirius relinquished his prize. Quickly, Remus tore off a considerable piece and plastered it over Sirius's lips. The latter scowled beneath the tape and tried to pull it off. Unfortunately, said tape wasn't about to comply.

"Well," Remus said, nodding, "I guess you were right."


	14. Sailing

**A Hero's Death**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 014 – Sailing  
**Antonym:** Sinking  
**Word Count:** 626

-oOo-

I cannot do this, Sirius. I cannot do this without you, because without you, I am alone. I always thought, even before James was gone, that we would live our final days together, you and I. Perhaps not as the intimates we became, but as Marauders. Once a Marauder, always a Marauder, as James used to always say. I believed so strongly that we would make one last stand with these words emblazoned in our minds, obliterating all other thoughts that could have sown seeds of doubt. I thought, so foolishly, that we would die as heroes in the midst of glory.

If you were here, and you knew that these were my thoughts, I know that you would laugh. You would tell me, as you always did, that I shouldn't read so many books, and you would say that they are rupturing my thoughts so much that I can no longer distinguish fantasy from reality. But if you were here, you would tell me, later, that you wouldn't mind dying like a hero with me at your side. We would perhaps share this dream for a while, and then you would fall asleep whilst I would lay awake, thinking too much. You were lucky that way; you always knew when to stop thinking and when to move onto something else.

I suppose this is why I'm still thinking, and I cannot believe that it has been two years already since I lost you, and then lost myself in thought. Sometimes I wonder if I am merely waiting for you to wake up and tell me that it's late, and it's about time I went to sleep as well.

Of course, it would not be quite like that. There are some times when I cannot remember how precisely you would say certain things. At times, your voice is so clear to me, and at others I cannot hear it at all. Instead, I hear Nymphadora speaking over the things which I most want to recall. Sometimes, it astounds me when I realize that she is so much like you. She has your eyes, you know. Or perhaps I simply see them whenever she looks at me. I do not doubt that anyone else would tell you, if you were here, that her eyes never look exactly the same.

I know that you are not here, however, just as I am aware that you and your cousin are different people.

Nymphadora knows what you meant to me, and I to you. Not all of what we meant, of course, for that is something that even you can I could barely manage to comprehend. Yet still, she reminds me so much of you when she tells me that I should stop thinking so much and that I am allowed to move on. She reminds me of you because of her persistence, because she will never give in and give up, no matter how many times I tell her that I simply cannot let you go.

Like you, she doesn't listen to such talk. It was she who proposed that I should marry her. It was she who said that, even if I could not love her now, at least she would lighten the shadows of my darkened life, and perhaps, she says, I will love her when the time is right.

Yet I am sinking, Sirius. I am sinking into the thoughts which I think too much and the memories of you which persist to haunt my dreams. I cannot do this without you; I would rather you were in her place on my wedding day.

But you are gone, Sirius, and nothing will bring you back. You died as a hero and did not wait for me.


	15. Loch Ness Monster

**Author's Notes: **Here we are, with the very last ficlet! Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed this little set. :)

**

* * *

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**Of Frogs and Princesses**

-oOo-

**Prompt:** 015 – Loch Ness Monster  
**Antonym:** Frog  
**Word Count:** 1,316

-oOo-

"Can you hear that?" Remus hears Sirius ask. He remains silent for a moment as he listens, and then he shakes his head in the darkness. There are so many sounds that night that he doesn't know to which one Sirius is referring.

"What is it?" Remus inquires.

"A frog."

Remus is almost too tired to laugh, but he manages to give a feeble chuckle anyway. "I suspect that there are many frogs outside, Padfoot. A creek runs through the woods, and there's a pond if you follow it long enough."

"This frog sounds different," Sirius insists, and they pause once more to listen.

At length, Sirius sucks in his breath with a hiss. "There it is again," he mutters, though Remus hasn't heard anything unusual. "Could you show me where the creek is? I don't reckon I can find it on my own."

Remus sits up in his bed, suddenly more awake. "What are you going to do to it?" he queries suspiciously.

He can almost make out Sirius's shoulders as he shrugs. "I dunno. I just want to find it."

After deliberating, he decides that it can't hurt to partake in a late-night excursion. His father has set up a protective barrier—magical, of course—around their property, and he knows for a fact that the pond is near its center, so they're bound to be safe. (And if Sirius, for whatever reason, decides to do something to the frog, then Remus will be there to stop him.)

"Okay," he agrees. "Just don't wake my parents when you come down the stairs. The last step creaks."

"I won't make a sound," Sirius promises earnestly.

Together, they carefully and quietly tiptoe out of Remus's room and into the outside corridor. From there, they can hear the subtle snores for which Remus's father is known drifting from the bedroom that's behind the last door. They exchange an amused glance—because this sort of thing never gets old—and at once start down the stairs. Remus holds his breath when they reach the bottom, but Sirius keeps his promise; they both make a point of jumping over the last step.

Soon, they've made it outside into the summer air, which is warm and still. But it's a clear night, and that compensates thrice over for the heat which is settling upon them. Above, the sky is of the deepest black that Remus has ever seen, even compared to nights in which there are full moons and everything is intensified.

Beside him, Sirius suddenly stops and tilts his head upward. A silent gasp escapes his lips, for there are millions upon millions of pinpricks of light gleaming down at them. From where they are, just outside of Remus's house, they're surrounded on all sides by tall pine trees that stretch up to meet the stars. From where they stand, looking up, the trees seem to form a circle that holds the sky together. It's almost more magical than Hogwarts.

"Bloody hell," Sirius breathes at last. "I didn't know there were so many." The light is so intense, so ethereal, that it seems to stain locks of his hair blue. "Mum never did like stars much. Obviously, it wasn't left up to her to name me."

Remus doesn't know how to respond; he never does when Sirius talks about his family. So he pretends to concentrate deeply upon the sky as if nothing needs to be said.

A minute passes, and then another.

"So where's this creek, then?" Sirius asks, suddenly snapping out of his reverie.

Remus returns his gaze and his thoughts back down to Earth.

"We should be seeing it soon," he says. "I don't know where it originates, but it passes fairly close to the edge of the woods." He pauses. "It isn't very far."

Just as he has said—because he's lived here long enough to have explored everything within reach—they can hear the gentle flow of the creek after traveling only four more paces. It's colder, now that they have begun to pass beneath the trees and are nearing water, and Remus unconsciously draws his arms around himself.

Sirius steps ahead of him, and Remus allows himself to fall behind. The former seems to have decided that he knows where he's going now, even if he's never been here before. Remus knows this feeling, though; he knows that here, it's like the woods whisper into the ears of the passers-by, guiding them wherever they'd best like to go. So he's glad, not only that he doesn't have to lead anymore, but that he knows someone else can sense this magic as well.

They are careful where they step as they follow the bends and turns of the creek. Sometimes, when they step _too_ close to it, their bare feet sink into the sodden earth and their feet are splashed by the cold droplets they disturb. As Remus muses to himself, he compares this to a balancing act. But unlike a balancing act, it's still rewarding when they step out of line.

They've only been walking a short while when a loud, peculiar-sounding croak fills the night air, drowning out the cricket symphonies and the owls who hoot and perch unseen amongst the trees. It's difficult for Remus to pinpoint what it is that's so abnormal about the sound; perhaps it's the pitch, or just the volume. Whatever it is, though, it doesn't at all disguise the fact that what they've been searching for has been found.

Sirius slows and creeps forward. Somehow, he knows precisely whence the sound came, and knows how to capture that which created it. Remus wonders whether dogs have exemplary vision at night.

Suddenly, a twig snaps as Sirius surges forward, his hands outstretched. Then there's another croak and a yell of triumph.

"I've got him!" Sirius exclaims. "Come and see!"

Remus obliges. Carefully, he maneuvers his way into the trees and to the edge of the creek where Sirius is squatting. He lowers himself to his knees, feeling the outline of a leaf pressing onto his leg.

Sirius holds out his cupped hands and unfurls his fingers, one by one. They're dripping, and his thumb is coated in an uneven layer of mud.

"Odd thing, isn't he?" Sirius comments.

The frog sits upon his palms, not moving except when it takes a new breath. It's green, as far as Remus can see, and small enough to be caught in Sirius's hands in the first place. A stripe of an indistinguishable color runs down its back, and above its eyes are two points, like minute horns. Apart from that, it's just like any other frog Remus has found here.

"Are you sure this is the one?" he asks.

Sirius nods. "Yeah. I didn't see any others." Then, unexpectedly, he chuckles. "Kiss it, Moony!" he jokes, holding it eyelevel with Remus. "Maybe it'll turn into a princess!" He laughs, and Remus can't help but join in. Sirius himself is just so infectious.

Suddenly, though, Remus frowns. "I'm afraid I'm not really one for princesses. Nor frogs, for that matter. So I don't think I'd enjoy a kiss from either one."

"Got someone else in mind, have you?" Sirius teases.

Remus says nothing; rather, he becomes all too aware of how hot it is. He looks away.

"You have!" Sirius cries gleefully. "Who is it, Moony? Somebody I know?"

And then Remus surprises himself. He leans forward, steadying himself with one hand as his fingers graze the ground, and he quickly kisses Sirius on the lips, like he could—but hasn't done—with any girl.

"I, ah… I expect…" Remus fumbles to find the right words.

"I suspect I'm a better kisser than the frog," Sirius adds, and there's a strange, almost husky tone to his voice.

But it's a strange night, Remus decides.

And very soon, the frog is forgotten.


End file.
